A clap of thunder woke all three of us, the two dogs and I, around 6 this morning. A deluge started almost immediately. I decided to get up and face the day, such as it is. The dogs wouldn’t go out. They backed into the house. It was pouring.

When I was a kid, walking to school in the rain usually meant wearing wet shoes and socks all day. Sometimes bubbles popped up between my toes, and if I took my shoes off, I’d leave footprints. The bottom of my uniform skirt sometimes got wet, but that dried quickly. The rain subdued us. The classroom was unusually quiet except for the sounds of the rain and the rustlings of papers. I remember silent reading. We’d pull out our literature books and read. I never understood a grade in silent reading. I guessed the nun watched for restless kids and gave them lower grades. I could have spent the whole day reading without moving a muscle. We stayed inside for lunch. The milk was delivered just before the lunch bell rang. When I was really young, it came in small bottles. When I was older, it was a carton of milk. We’d walk up to the desk, give the nun our money, grab the milk and then walk back and start to eat. I was never good at opening cartons. If it weren’t for the straw we got, I’d have spilled milk all over me and the desk. I am still no good with cartons. I love the screw tops.

When I was in Ghana, I learned to do with less and never minded. I had a hand can opener. I still have one, the old silver opener with the turner. The only problem is it is getting difficult for me to turn it. The good news is few cans are missing the pull off tab.

Yesterday I went to my uke lesson. I was able to keep my foot elevated the whole time, but the excursion was still painful. My leg and foot hurt. I took an early nap. I did nothing the rest of the day.

The mornings are the worst for my foot and leg. After being elevated all night, my foot does not take well to walking. I whine a lot. I still haven’t worn a shoe. My slippers have holes for my big toes, hardly attractive, and faux fur around the top. I wear therm everywhere. I have no shame.

The morning is pretty. It is already warm at 72˚. I’ve opened windows. I love the smell of the morning air and the songs of the birds. The breeze is sometimes strong. It moves the tall oak branches sending the leaves waving rhythmically back and forth. They need their own song.

My leg still hurts. I am so tired of this. I’m beginning to bemoan my fate. I even whine out loud. The dogs have stopped listening. They are both having their morning naps.

When I was a kid, I loved this time of year. Heavy clothes were finally stored away until next winter. I got to wear my spring jacket. I skipped to school on sidewalks shadowed by the tree branches hanging over the walk, branches filled with leaves. Sometimes we’d jump from shadow to shadow in a game of sidewalk hopscotch, a game we made up with ever chasing rules. The school yard was loud. We didn’t need to huddle in groups to keep warm. We hated when the nun rang the bell, and we had to line up in twos by classes to walk into the building. It was a long time until recess.

Finally the day got longer and the streetlights came on later so we got to play outside almost until supper time. We played games like red light, green light, red rover and hide and seek. Sometimes we drew hopscotch on the sidewalk then went looking for the perfect rock before we played. It had to be flat. Once the streetlight came on, it took only a minute or two for us to run inside. If we waited even the shortest time, my mother yelled out the door for us. The other mothers did the same.

Supper seldom varied, only the vegetable changed. We’d have potatoes, usually mashed, and meat, often ground beef. I liked peas but not many other veggies. I’ve mentioned before how my mother often mixed carrots in with the potatoes. We were never the wiser despite the orange flecks in the potatoes. I think my mother must have explained them away and we believed her. Mothers didn’t lie!